


Rehabilitation

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike justifies drinking at six in the morning in a Tokyo bar by saying he’s still on American time and that it’s two in the afternoon there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rehabilitation

Rehabilitate: To restore to good health or useful life

Mike justifies drinking at six in the morning by saying he’s still on American time and that it’s two in the afternoon there. Nobody says it’s not really acceptable to drink at two in the afternoon, either. Mike pitches a fit when Dave approaches him with a cup of coffee reminding him they have a show to play tonight and saying, don’t you think you should wait until after we’re done playing to get wasted?

“Having one drink isn’t getting wasted,” Mike informs him, before moving onto his next beer.

Dave slides the coffee across the table, his expression unreadable. “What happens in Tokyo doesn’t stay in Tokyo, Mike. And I will be calling AA when we get back.”

Mike scowls, stares Dave down for one, two, three seconds before brushing the mug of coffee off the table angrily. The porcelain smashes when it hits the tiled floor and the entire restaurant falls into silence before the guy behind the bar starts yelling angrily in Japanese.

It takes a long moment before Mike gets up and leaves, Dave hot on his heels. The rest of the band try to placate the bar tender, but a fistful of US dollars can only do so much in a country where the currency is Yen.

Dave can imagine what they’re saying, once an alcoholic always an alcoholic. And yeah, sure, the first time Mike fell of the wagon Dave was there with Peter 5:8, 9 – be sober so we can be on watch for the devil. He thought he was being helpful, they all did, but they should have never sent him to rehab.

He remembers saying, it’s only twenty eight days. And Mike just cried and cried and begged him, please don’t let them do this to me, please don’t send me there, please, I’m fine, Dave, please.

He remembers saying, I’ll visit you. And Mike saying, don’t fucking bother.

It worked for a little while, he seemed to understand it all. Until he didn’t. Until he was drinking every night just to get to sleep. Said he had nightmares and Dave said, don’t we all?

Rob and Chester still spend most of their time on their sobriety high horses, today included. The minute Mike approached the bar Chester was muttering to Rob, gin or beer, I’ll give you ten bucks if it’s gin.

Dave chases Mike out of the bar and scours the busy street frantically until he catches him walking across the street, dodging in and out of passing traffic. Dave hurries after him yelling, “Mike! Hey, Mike! Wait up!”

He almost gets hit by a taxi and dives for the pavement, his foot catching on the curb and he trips, landing face down at Mike’s feet. “I’m not helping you up if you’ve come after me just to judge me.”

“I haven’t,” Dave says, still laying on the sidewalk. His ankle feels like it’s been stamped on by a sumo wrestler. “You’re mistaking me for your ex.”

Mike sticks out his hand. “Rob just wants what’s best for me.” He waggles his fingers.

Dave reaches out, letting Mike pull him to his feet. “So do I. But I’m not making bets against you in every bar we go in.”

Mike goes pale, digs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “They’re not…” his voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the blaring of a bus horn. “They’re not betting against me.”

There’s nothing to say because Mike already knows the answer. It’s amazing, the lies we tell ourselves on a day-to-day basis. Like, I don’t have a drink problem. Or, my friends aren’t a bunch of assholes.

“Mark will be wondering where you went,” Mike says.

Or, devout Christians don’t have abusive relationships.

Dave shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll be back for the show. We have over twelve hours to kill.”

Like, I haven’t settled for the love I think I deserve.

“I want to see the city. Without any fucking, without a tour bus and a security team following us. Without being filmed the entire time.” He pauses, checks his cell phone even though they’re in the land of no reception.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Mike says, and starts to walk away. Dave scurries after him and, for a long time, they walk in silence. The humidity is nigh on unbearable but he doesn’t complain about it, just pulls off his sweater and, when he gets tired of carrying it, throws it in the trash.

They find a family restaurant with English speaking waiters after hours of walking into stores that sell the most incredible stuff. They did have to have a discussion about Mike’s disgustingly American use of the word kawaii. (“Gwen Stefani uses it!” “Yeah, and I even think she is a douche.”) And when the waiter comes to their table wearing a hat with panda ears Dave has to warn him - “Don’t say it.”

Neither of them mentions the other side of the drinks menu where the beers and spirits are listed and Dave just orders them both Cola without even asking Mike what he wants. It’s hard to ignore the awkward tension, but they don’t bring it up, eat mostly in silence. When they pay the cheque the waiter gives then both a little plush panda and a charming smile.

As they head back out onto the street Mike tells his panda, “Tokyo is awesome.”

“I’m calling my panda Mike.”

“That’s not very Japanese.”

Dave just stares at him. “It’s your name. You’re half Japanese. You’re criticising your own name!”

Mike shrugs, distracted by looking at the panda, running his finger over its plastic, beady little eyes. “What time is it?”

Time to go back is what he wants to say, but he just checks his watch. “Two thirty.”

Mike’s hands shake as they pinch the panda’s ears, shake as he pulls his cell phone from his pocket to double check the time, shake so much he drops it on the sidewalk. “Fuck,” he curses, bending down to pick it up, inspecting it for scratches.

“You okay?”

The answer is, probably, I need a drink. I need a beer and I’ll be fine. But Mike doesn’t hear him or if he does he doesn’t feel the need to reply. He tucks his cell phone back in his pocket and runs his shaking hand through his hair.

“Mike?”

“Let’s keep walking. Let’s just. If we keep going…”

“Yeah,” Dave says, uncertain, “yeah sure.”

They’ve covered miles in the time between wherever they are and the bar. At first they walked in a straight line, but now they’re zigzagging down back alleys and cutting through stores onto the streets behind until they’re completely and hopelessly lost. They need to start heading back now. They should have left hours ago. They have to find a cab.

“No,” Mike says, “no it’ll be fine.”

Dave stops walking and grabs Mike’s wrist. “We have to go back. Regardless of whether or not you want to.”

“No we don’t! We don’t go on ‘til nine, Dave. It’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t realise he’s doing it, but he tightens his grip on Mike’s wrist until something grinds against his fingers. Mike tugs away, cradling his injured wrist to his chest and blinking fast.

Violence doesn’t solve anything. Until it does. Until Mike doesn’t argue as Dave tries to lead them back onto the main road to flag down a cab, to find someone who can give them directions. He’s surprised that he doesn’t feel guilty, and understands suddenly with a startling clarity why people hit their lovers. He understands why Mark hits him. The silence is worth it.

After a while of backtracking the way they came the silence is too much. Dave pulls his panda from his pocket and stares at it. “I think you’re right. Mike isn’t a very good name for him.”

Mike looks up, uninterested.

“If I’m going to name him after you I should call him Kenji, right?”

Mike shrugs. “Being called Kenji in Japan is the equivalent of being called John in America – it’s just common and boring.”

“So?”

“So you shouldn’t call your panda Kenji.”

“What are you going to call yours?”

Mike shrugs and checks the time on his cell phone. “Who cares, Phi?” He mutters, tiredly. “I’ll probably just leave it behind somewhere, like everything else.”

“That’s not true. There’s some things you never let go of, no matter where you go. Has Chester ever told you about Duck?”

“What duck?”

“It’s his stuffed penguin. He’s had it since he was a little kid. He thought it was a duck when he got it, so that’s what he called it. When there’s meaning to something you don’t lose it.”

Mike shrugs. “I’ll call it Jack.”

“Jack?”

“Daniels.”

Dave grits his teeth and clenches his fists, tries hard not to just snap immediately. “I thought it was other people always pointing the finger at you when it came to drinking but you do it to yourself just as much. Why should anybody have any faith in you if you’re always wise-cracking about your addiction like it’s a fucking joke?”

“You don’t get it, Dave.”

“I do get it. I get it. I get that when we’d find Chester face down in the bathroom of a bar he’d be ashamed and horrified at not being able to remember what had happened or why he was coughing up blood but you think that kind of shit is funny and it isn’t. It isn’t funny. It’s like you don’t actually have any interest in changing at all.”

Mike stares at him blankly. “If you’re so enlightened and perfect why is it Mark calls you worse than shit when you’re not around?”

Dave shrugs, glances around. His eyes fall on a policeman speaking to a street vendor ten feet away. “I’m going to go ask for directions,” he says.

The policeman speaks English well enough for them to communicate. He gives Dave directions to the best place to hail a cab and tells them the name of the street their hotel is on. Just knowing that all is not lost is calming, and Dave smiles, turns back to where he left Mike to find him staring at his hands, picking his nails.

He approaches him slowly, taking one of his hands. “Don’t do that.”

Mike snatches his hand away and digs it into his pocket. “What did the cop say?”

“He said it’ll take us a while to get back, but that we’re close to a bunch of cabs so we should hurry.”

Mike doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look Dave in the eye. He shifts his weight and fidgets awkwardly.

“Mike?”

“I don’t know what to do.” He says, sounding like a scared little boy. That’s all he really is, Dave thinks. He’s a thirty-two-year-old kid with no idea where to go or what to do or who to turn to.

“We have to go back. So that’s a start, right? We’ll go back to the hotel, we’ll get yelled at, then we’ll go to the venue.”

“They’re going to be so mad at me.”

“Well, yeah. You can’t just do something and expect there to be no repercussions in the end. We both left the bar this morning knowing they’d be pissed when we got back but whatever, right? So what? Sometimes you just have to do something, even if you know the outcome won’t really be anything positive and nothing will have changed.”

Mike nods. Probably he’s thinking of Rob. Dave is thinking of Mark, of what he’ll say when they get back. And he knows he has to be strong for Mike, but he wants Mike to be strong for him, too. He hadn’t thought anybody had noticed the way Mark treat him. Maybe Mike hadn’t thought anybody had noticed his drinking.

Maybe what they both need is a reality check.

“I don’t want to be the one causing fights and ruining every little thing all the time.”

Dave nods. “You don’t have to be. But if you don’t come back with me they’ll never trust you again, and I think you know that already.”

“I don’t really want to call my panda Jack Daniels.” Mike says, pulling the plush toy from his pocket and staring at it.

Dave laughs, probably a little loudly.

Mike frowns, sure he’s being ridiculed. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dave smiles, “nothing. I’m glad.”

“If they send me to AA, which they will, will you tell Mark you want to go to relationship counselling?”

Dave’s face falls and it’s his turn to be speechless and nervous. Mark doesn’t believe in therapy, says there’s nothing a counsellor can tell him that he can’t learn from God. “He’d never go for it.”

“I’ll never go for AA, but I figure going cold turkey with someone else is easier than on your own. Alcohol or domestic, abuse is abuse, Phi.”

He means leave him. Call it quits with Mark and never look back. It’s strange to spend your entire life with a plan in mind, your entire future will be spent a certain way. Then something happens and you’re stranded. Like now, lost in Tokyo with your best friend. Better than being lost alone.

Dave starts walking up the street, Mike following behind him in silence. It’s not until they hail a cab and are heading back to the hotel that Dave nods, says, “Okay. So, cold turkey, then.”

And when they climb out of the cab at the hotel Dave isn’t worried about the torrent of criticism they’ll face when they meet up with the rest of the band. He isn’t afraid of Mark. He isn’t afraid of anything. And when Mike smiles at him, pulling his plush panda from his pocket and saying, “I think I’ll call him Phi,” Dave feels amazing.


End file.
